


Tempting 101

by CB (maidamedia)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22324276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maidamedia/pseuds/CB
Summary: A first time story.  Both Aziraphale and Crowley are getting complaints from their bosses because of their Arrangement.  If they want this to work, they've got to fix the problems.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	Tempting 101

**Author's Note:**

> Authors: MSL and CB. If I could get it through the form, I would.

If Crowley had been in a mood to make the comparison, he might have noted the similarity of the spectacular sunset that had just ended to the fires of hell though, from up here on top of the cathedral roof, this small town smelled a hell of a lot better. There was something about sulfur. It took forever to get the odor out of your nose or your clothes. And when you wore your hair long, you'd roll over on your pillow and get a disgusting whiff that might pull you out of a most amusing dream. It had become his habit to indulge in a good long wash and soak after having to visit his previous domicile.

But hell was the last thing Crowley was thinking about as the evening shades spread across the countryside. The excitement that filled his chest had only one focus and thought. Aziraphale. A sennight ago Crowley had sent out the word that he had to see the angel, and the wait had become an eternity. A reply had said that Angel was coming. It had just not included the information on when. So Crowley had settled here on the roof of the church, where each of the roads leading into town could be seen for miles, and spent a few hours each afternoon scanning the moving individuals and groups for a sight of his friend.

His eyesight was not as good as he felt it should have been. Undoubtedly a carryover from a long ago creation that might have done a better job, in his humble opinion. Though, when needed, he was able to focus his eyes and see farther. He'd strained his eyes for days looking for his friend, and was grateful for the tinted glass that relieved some of that strain.

Choosing the cathedral roof had been practical because of the view. The other advantage had been less obvious. It was warm. Gloriously, southern tropically, unexpectedly warm. Now, admittedly, the fiery atmosphere of the cathedral, itself, reminded one of the lower circles but up here the roof mitigated the holiness and the resulting temperature was so comfortable that Crowley found himself counting down the time when he could leave the frozen British December ground and spend a little time thawing on the rooftop.

And then, in the not too far distance, he was there. Trudging along the road from a more southerly direction than Crowley had expected was a figure whose posture and gait made it certain to eyes that had inconspicuously watched Angel for millenia. It was Angel. The bulk was, undoubtedly, layers of cloaks to shield him against the cold. A sudden urge to bring Angel up here was immediately suppressed. What was warmth to Crowley, would be even colder to his friend.

Glancing at the sky, Crowley could see that full night hadn't yet fallen. But temptation was in his mind, and he saw no reason, when the chance was offered, not to fall to it himself. Spreading wide his huge black wings, Crowley leaped into the air and beat them in glorious freedom as he sped to the figure in the distance.

Landing just beyond a curve in the road, Crowley returned to his human form and dress - black hose that clung to his legs as if molded, and a tight fitting jerkin, belted over a black/grey gambeson that showed off Crowley's slim build. The gambeson was normally padded to fit under armor but, for Crowley, worn mostly for its additional warmth. A quick glance at the road to see that Aziraphale had not yet appeared, and a casual pose to imply that Crowley had just happened upon this location. The pose was instantly ruined as Aziraphale turned the corner and Crowley shouted out a greeting and hurried to embrace his friend.

But with one hand raised, Aziraphale stopped him, though the smile on the Angel's face was as broad as Crowley's. "Sshhh! I just got him to sleep." The bulge beneath Aziraphale's cloak could now be seen to be a small black lamb, nestled trustingly in the angel's arms and only making soft sounds in sleep that was obviously disturbed by the sudden stop in their rocking rhythm. Smiling up with pleasure and then tucking the cloak closer around the small animal, Aziraphale indicated they should continue on their way.

"You're bringing dinner?" Crowley asked, unwrapping the cloak just a small bit and shaking his head over the unexpected addition to their meeting.

Horrified, Aziraphale grabbed the edge of cloth and recovered the baby, turning slightly away from his friend as they walked. "I can only hope he hasn't picked up enough vocabulary to understand that." A soft crooning soon lulled the lamb deeper into sleep, with no counting of its fellows needed. At Crowley's raised eyebrow, Aziraphale explained, "I knew I was in an area known for its cheeses so, when dinner time came, I stopped at a farmhouse to pick up a block for my evening meal. It took longer than I expected. There were so many to choose from and I finally settled on a soft one with a rather pungent flavor, and a hard cheese that has a subtle flavor I'm still trying to identify."

At Crowley's glance down at the sleeping lamb, Aziraphale came more quickly to the point. "I heard some rather frantic bleating and found a sheep just delivering her third lamb. The first one was stillborn, the second looked very healthy and was trying to nurse while the mother was delivering this one. When the ewe got up, she licked the second one, ignored the one that hadn't lived and just walked off leaving this adorable little creature behind. It's very early for lambing, but you do see them sometimes in December. I thought about bringing him to a farmhouse but then I thought about the same thing you just said." He shook his head to stop Crowley from repeating his previous blasphemy.

"So I found another farmhouse and bought some milk and I decided that if some humans can have a non-working dog, then I can have a lamb. So not another word about him." At a sudden, soft "Baahh!", Aziraphale began gently bouncing it up and down. "You just go back to sleep, Crowley. We'll be stopping soon and before long you'll have a nice, full stomach and a soft bed."

A sound came out of Crowley's mouth that turned into a low laugh. "Should I be flattered that you named him for me? Does that make me his hell father?"

Embarrassed that the name had slipped out, Aziraphale bent again over the lamb. "Well, he is black and he has been good company."

Any further joke Crowley might have made, died aborning. For the rest of the walk, Aziraphale caught Crowley up on his doings over the last year, notably heaviest on an enthusiastic recitation of meals eaten and vineyards discovered. Through it all, Crowley just grinned, his own story needing more privacy than the road, even more deserted now that full night had fallen, could offer.

As they passed the Cathedral filled with evening worshipers and glowing from within by hundreds of candles, Aziraphale did glance at a man who knelt on the courtyard pavement, candle stuck to the stones and charcoal clutched in his hand, busily sketching a winged figure that reminded Aziraphale of the gargoyles that had begun filling cathedral roofs in nearby towns. But as Crowley ignored the man, they hurried past, only pausing in front of one of the largest houses in the town.

"We have to enter by the backdoor, but you shouldn't mind. This is my surprise for you." A path led along the building to a large door through which could be seen the light of fires and the scurrying of people past windows. Beyond the door, the path narrowed, probably ending in the outdoor communal latrines.

At Crowley's gesture, the door opened and they were immediately inundated with shouting and movement, all of which stopped cold at the sight of Crowley and his companion. Scurrying, everyone whisked themselves into a remarkably straight line.

The silence in the kitchen was broken only by the sputtering of the meat above the fire and the pat-pat of the paws of the hearth dog turning the spit. A medium sized dog of uncertain ancestry, waiting to take his place when the working dog tired, came bounding forward, dignity not even being part of his mixed heritage, to enthusiastically welcome Crowley back. For his forbearance in not jumping up on Crowley, the dog received a quick pat.

While Aziraphale stood back, trying to understand what was going on, Crowley paced up and down the line, straightening a chef's hat and nodding in approval of a clean apron. As he passed, the line broke up with each approved cook or helper running to get the finished dishes to line up on the table. Once Crowley had completed his personnel review, he moved to the table and beckoned Aziraphale to join him. The tasting went quickly and approval for the dishes given, allowing Crowley to lead Aziraphale to a suite of rooms off the kitchen while organized chaos reigned behind them.

As Aziraphale laid the awakening lamb down on a rich, thick carpet, Crowley leaned back against the wall, grinning. "Last year, you told me I had to take on a human job, so I did. You're looking at the Chief Chef for the local Bishop."

"You're a cook!" Aziraphale declared, delight in his voice.

"I'm a cook!" Crowley agreed.

"But don't you have to be out there supervising the meal?"

"That's what sous chefs are for. Train your crew right and you avoid problems. I guarantee you that that crew is trained." There was a tone in Crowley's voice that left no doubt of that. "From late afternoon on, I'm free every evening. I just usually duck into the banquet near the end to hear the reviews."

"But you don't usually eat anything. Whatever gave you the idea of going into the culinary arts?"

A snap of Crowley's fingers broke a statis sphere around a table and, instantly, smells filled the room that had Aziraphale's nose twitching. Glancing toward the table, Crowley made a quick movement, and a lamb dish, fragrant with coriander, saffron, cinnamon and lavender, turned suddenly into a pork pie, equally redolent of spices and cheese.

"Oh, I don't know." Crowley watched as the angel bent to closely inspect the dishes, eyes closing in rapture. "One type of work seemed as good as any other, and I prefer management." Waving at a chair, Crowley suggested, "What say we eat now and talk later? I'm looking forward to seeing what you think of my choices."

Guiltily, Aziraphale glanced over at little Crowley, now puddling on the carpet and starting to bah for his own supper. But a flick of a wrist cleaned the rug, and another brought a milk-filled bag that suspended itself above the excitedly sucking baby. With a wave of his hand again, the angel indicated the other chair to big Crowley, who laughed and joined him.

" _Bon appetit_!"

"You didn't tell me you've been to France lately," Crowley noted as he sat down, watching from the corner of his eye which dishes Aziraphale spooned first onto his plate and picking up his own cup to sip the wine he'd taken two days to choose.

"There was a little todo going on between Boniface and Philip the Fair - who really is quite a handsome man. It was suggested by my higher ups that I try mediating between the two. Didn't do very well, I'm afraid. Something is going to have to give between them or there's going to be trouble. But I did get back to a restaurant that I remembered having especially good crepes. I'm developing a real taste for those."

A smug smile promised a good ending for the meal, since Aziraphale had been an aficionado of crepes for several centuries now and Crowley was certain that his choice of sauce on the stack now sitting warm in the corner of the table, would be well approved. Sprawling back in his chair, Crowley sipped again. An excellent choice. This should put Aziraphale in a perfect mood for the conversation he intended to have with the angel later tonight.

***************************

A quick appearance in the dining hall had brought rave reviews from all sides. It seemed that French fare was becoming quite popular on clerical tables. And the required passing along of the complements served to encourage his own kitchen troops. It hadn't taken many months for Crowley to learn that humans responded best when the occasional "Well done!" was mixed in with stern supervision. He had no doubt that the kitchen and storage areas would be immaculately readied for the next day's work, so he was free to return to his rooms where, he guessed, Aziraphale would be dosing over a large brandy.

But on entering the large center space, he was surprised to see that the fire had died down and that the room was empty. A slight hiccup in his heart-rate was brought under control as he heard the sound of an off-key voice singing a lullabye in the spare room. Laughing at himself for the panic he'd felt, Crowley crossed the room and stood in the open doorway.

As he'd suspected, Aziraphale had appropriated the smaller bedroom and made up a bed of hay for Crowley's curly namesake. Since he'd suspected that the two were planning to share a bed, Crowley smiled with some relief, and just made sure that there was an impervious barrier between the straw and the thick Persian rug before saying, "He'll never fall asleep that way. Not unless you're trying to sound like a mother sheep. Come out and have your brandy. He'll be fine here."

Reluctantly, Aziraphale left the now sleeping lamb and tiptoed out of the room, looking back and smiling at a sound that could have been a bah, or just a loud sigh. Sighing himself in full contentment, the angel followed Crowley to the chairs by the fire and watched as Crowley flicked it into full flame and produced two snifters, rich with a color and aroma he recognized from his recent travels.

It was a while before Aziraphale got up the energy to ask the obvious question. "What did you need to see me about? You might have given me a hint."

Sitting up a little straighter, Crowley picked up the decanter and leaned over to refill Aziraphale's goblet and then his own, then returned the bottle to its place beside his chair. "You remember when you were complaining that I was doing such a poor job at doing your good deeds when I had the rota?"

"What I said was that I was getting complaints from my bosses that my monthly score was way down and that I thought it might be because you didn't really remember how to do good deeds."

"And that's why you wanted me to take on a job and learn more about humans."

"Which I have to admit I never thought you'd do," Aziraphale confessed, inhaling deeply the fumes that filled the wide bowl.

"Well," Crowley stretched out a foot showing a pointy-toed boot. "The shoe's on the other foot this time. I've just come back from being reamed up one side of hell and down the other for a complete failure in my tempting report. It's so bad that they're talking of sending me down there," he pointed, "and replacing me with someone else."

That brought Aziraphale upright in his chair and wide awake. "They can't do that! I'd..." He stopped, embarrassed at whatever it was he'd been about to say.

Crowley noticed the unspoken admission with pleasure, but went on. "My problem for you was easier to solve because I had been an angel. Though rusty, I do remember the general thrust of what I need to do when I'm working your side of our Arrangement. I assume you're not having problems anymore."

Shaking his head, Aziraphale responded with a wide smile. "You'll be pleased to know that you earned me a commendation last month. Apparently, the recognition is drifting upward as Gabriel's reports won him enough praise, in turn, that he's acting almost human for a change." Turning serious, he continued. "But you. Clearly I'm doing something wrong. Whatever I do that's good, I always try to balance out with some equivalent temptation when I'm the one in the field. I truly don't know what more I can do."

"I did think that you were trying, Angel. But if I want to stay up here, I'm going to have to help you do better. We're going to need to teach you exactly how to tempt somebody." He got up and stretched. "But that's for tomorrow. I'm for bed now." Starting to his own bedroom, he paused and looked back. "Unless you want to start out your new career tonight and tempt me into your bed."

When Aziraphale made as if to throw his glass at Crowley, Crowley ducked in supposed terror, laughed and turned toward his room.

***************************

The day started out marvelously for Crowley, when he learned that the Bishop was traveling to another town and that the day's meals were for the rabble that congregated around the bishopric. That meant he could get away with minimal time in the kitchen and maximal time with Aziraphale. The problem was the lamb.

The infant was on a two hour feeding schedule and Angel was looking a trifle knackered. Although the milk wasn't a problem, thanks be to miracles, getting Angel to focus on Crowley's problem was going to be. As Crowley watched Aziraphale holding the lamb on his lap, trying to keep his eyes open until the babe started closing his, Crowley didn't know whether to cry in frustration or laugh at that wonderful soul sitting there in his nightshirt with that absurd creature he had named after Crowley. Laugh, he decided.

"Once he's done, may I suggest a solution to leaving him here, next to the kitchen?"

That woke Aziraphale up.

"When that little pup out there gets too annoying (Crowley would never have admitted that he, too, occasionally slept with the annoyance, though only after defleaing it), I turn it into a small wooden toy and leave it on the table. It never seems to notice and I've seen him start a bark before I turn him, that he finishes after I bring him back. What say I show you the trick and maybe you could even get a little sleep tonight?"

Thus began Aziraphale's first lesson in temptation.

It took another hour to convince his Angel of the safety of the process and another hour before Angel felt himself to be adequately washed, dressed and fed for the start of the day - a process the still breathing Crowley watched with amusement and enjoyment. Then, with the lamb toy in a purse that now hung from Angel's elegant white leather belt, they were finally on their way to discover temptation opportunities.

***************************

Standing in a small town common, demonically miracled of any unfortunate droppings, Crowley indicated the busy people walking by, each looking curiously toward them and then politely away. "A world awaits you, Angel. Who will you tempt?"

Without thinking, Angel said softly, "The man in green and orange. Following that woman. I think he's up to no good."

"That may well be, but I think you'll find that the woman he's following is his mother. Note the similarity of noses. And if you watch the way his eyes move side to side, I'm afraid he isn't the smartest chick in her coop. She's probably taught him to stay near to carry her loads. Strong back. Notice the firewood he's carrying, while her hands are free to find more."

"So not him."

"Not him. That family has enough problems without us adding any more. Though you might want to stop by when you're leaving and think up one of your good deeds. Right now I need you concentrating on evil." Scanning the passersby, Aziraphale's eyes stopped and a smile spread across his face. Several pretty young things preened when they realized he was watching them, then looked disappointed when his gaze passed on by. Crowley never even noticed.

Leaning toward Aziraphale, Crowley said in a low voice, "That one! Leaning on the door frame of the public house. That look he's giving the men is more to their purses than to their faces. You can use him to take down the innocents, which is probably his profession, and an experience that will be invaluable to them years from now when they aren't so innocent, or you can just go for him directly."

"Direct." There wasn't any sympathy in Angel's voice.

"Fine. Now what do you tempt him with?"

"Greed. Of course. Perhaps I could be a rich young son journeying to the cathedral with an offering for the monks to pray for my ill father."

"Not bad. But we aren't actually going to do any tempting today. This is just your initial exam to see where your education needs improving. For now, we just look." Which Crowley did in time to note the swallow overhead which had just dropped a load he was pretty sure would look particularly unattractive on Angel's gold-trimmed white half-cape. Zapping it into oblivion right before it hit was especially satisfying. With the trees filled with the creatures, zapping bird poop was one of those activities he enjoyed to keep the eternal boredom at bay. Took a good eye, as well as good timing.

Angel shared his smile, with not the faintest idea what Crowley was actually smiling about. "So we've done the 'Do not covet.' What say we do the father and mother one next?"

"You like a challenge!" Clapping Angel on the back, Crowley turned to search the faces of the people. It took a while, but finally his scrutiny relaxed and he turned back. "There are two examples. Just find one."

It took awhile, but Aziraphale did finally identify the girl passing out of youth and apparently hawking more than the apples on the table before her - their red fullness an imitation of what thrust itself out of her low-necked dress. Next to her sat an elderly woman, drawn with age and hard work, face red with embarrassment, concentrating on paring a pile of the fruit for a pie. Since his main choice of these two had been by noting the small changes in Crowley's expression as Aziraphale glanced first at one person and then at Crowley, then at another and again back to Crowley, Aziraphale did worry that he was cheating on the test. But it was worth it for the smile of pride he received from his friend when he succeeded in picking out the pair.

"And just how would you tempt her? Remember, the purpose of tempting is to make her one of mine, not yours. All we've done with this identification is find someone who is a likely candidate."

"I suppose I could tempt someone rich into taking her as a mistress. A twofer." He brightened. "And then her mother would be taken care of, too."

"Don't suppose I can object to that," Crowley agreed. "The thing is, you have to keep remembering the fundamentals. We want her soul. And if it makes you feel too guilty, you can always find a good deed that will accidentally wreck the bad one."

"Like having someone spill mud on her just as the old man was noticing her."

"Exactly. Evil deed accomplished, as well as associated good one. But please, Angel, subtlety. And sometimes you just have to let their free will allow them to decide what to do about what you offer. It's not really fair if you keep deciding for them."

The appearance of a rider racing through the town sent people scattering in all directions, as well as a flock of birds spinning out of one tree and circling round before landing on another. Crowley was able to zap four out of five of the droppings, the one he missed being too far away to endanger Angel.

"Sorry, you said?"

"It's getting close to noon. Dinner? I was just wondering if the old lady has any cooked pies yet."

"Fine. And as long as we're there, why don't you show me your tempting technique. Get her to agree to meet you tonight over by that tree. Can you do it without offering her money?"

"But her mother's right there! And what if someone hears me?"

"You're not going to really meet her, Angel. Just tell her you will. And if she catches cold being out on a winter's night, well, serves her right for deserting her poor old mum."

"I really don't like this, Crowley."

"But you're going to do it, right? Because, after all, you do know that we either lose all the advantages of working together with our Arrangement, or you get to make a new deal with someone else that you might not like anywhere near as well as you like me."

"Midnight. The tree."

Nodding, Crowley followed after as Aziraphale took a deep breath and headed for the apple table, fascinated to see how his angel was going to approach this problem. Casually seemed to be the answer.

"Apples, sir? Three for a penny."

If Crowley had been the one negotiating merchandise, he might have been tempted to ask what the price was of the cherries falling out of her bodice. But he stayed behind Angel and tried to appear fascinated by the cloudless sky.

"Are any of your pies ready yet?"

In answer to a glance from the daughter, the old woman shook her head and the girl replied, "Not yet." She leaned in. "Tell me where you're staying - I can tell you're a stranger - and I'll be sure to deliver pies right to your door whenever you want. Any kind of pies. Or anything else you might like."

"Oh, well..." Aziraphale glanced desperately around for help, but Crowley kept his eyes on the blue sky. "Midnight. That tree," he finally gasped out, the words almost unintelligible in their haste to escape.

Bumping the girl aside, the old woman suddenly took center place at the table. "Sully's a good girl. It's one gold coin if you want her for less than an hour, two if you want her for the night. Nothing strange or French or Italian. That's another two coins. And if you want to hit her around..." the loving mother ignored the girl's yelp as she kicked her daughter under the table, "you can do what you want for a round six gold. Just nothing broken, hear?"

Switching places in an instant, Crowley leaned forward, a cold smile on his face. "I fear you misunderstand my friend, mother. He's passionately fond of apple pie and apparently yours are renowned throughout this parish. We are, as you can see, travelers, and do plan to pass by here again tonight and hoped that that tree might be a safe place for you to leave your famous pies. I assume this is enough to pay for three."

As Crowley slowly placed three coins, none gold, on the table, the old woman scooped them up and pushed them down her own meager bodice. "Of course, good sir, three it is. My very best stuffed with apples and my own special sauce. Best for miles around. They'll be under that tree before dinner time and a warning to all the scoundrels around to let them be or risk my wrath."

Arm around Angel, Crowley bowed to the woman and led his friend away.

"Are we really coming back for the pies? She said she has a special sauce," Aziraphale whispered as Crowley pushed him at almost a run through the common.

"You wouldn't like it. From the smell of the ones cooking, she uses too much clove for you."

"Oh." Beginning to pant from their pace, Aziraphale complained, "But I'm hungry."

"Be glad you're just hungry and not about to get the French pox. By now half that town must be infected." A sudden thought came to Crowley and he stopped dead, staring at Aziraphale. "You were just in France. You didn't..." Answering himself, he encouraged his friend on to their previous pace. "Nah, you wouldn't. But we're going to have a little talk tonight, anyway, about temptations and the birds and the bees." As the angel slowed his pace to ask a question, Crowley slid an arm around his waist. "Dinner. Pub up the road. Best puddings for miles." Then attempted to keep up with Aziraphale.

***************************

They had had apple pies. And meat pasties. And an ale that made up for a lot of the poor drink Crowley hated to remember he'd drunk in all his years in Britain. On the grass little Crowley, returned to his normal form, gamboled awkwardly, returning to Angel periodically for another sip of milk and an affectionate pat.

Maybe it was the company, but it was turning out to be an excellent day, marred only slightly by the memory of Hastur's threats. The simple fix would be to give up The Arrangement. But then there was no guarantee that he and Angel would have to periodically meet to arrange their arrangement. Besides, it was only fair that Angel learn to tempt up to Crowley's standards as Crowley had remembered how to do good deeds up to Angel's. As he'd told Angel earlier, it was always possible to maneuver situations to nullify the evil later in a way that Crowley's side would never know about.

Why did Angel have so much trouble tempting? It wasn't smarts. Angel was as smart as they came. And it wasn't lack of imagination. That Angel also had in spades. The only thing that made any sense was that Angel, himself, never felt the internal need on which temptation rested. What was it Angel wanted that much?

There was food, of course. But they'd traveled for weeks together in places where food had simply not been available and not a peep of a complaint had he heard from his angel. And never had he seen his angel take gluttony to the point of many of humankind. Make the dish exquisite, and Angel was fully satisfied with a small helping and a long conversation about it.

There was alcohol, of course, but since Crowley recognized that as one of those fundamental elements of nature, he ignored Angel's enjoyment of the means to get completely sloshed. Making a small reminder to bring out the brandy he'd been saving when they got back, Crowley cast his mind over what else Angel was passionate about.

Books. Always. From the moment Aziraphale had taken the first handwritten book onto his palms, and slowly turned the pages, it had been books with his angel. He read them, reread them, and then read them again. Totally bizarre. But that was his angel. Might as well try to understand why the wind blew. But that wasn't really going to be of any use to their current problem. Who else but Angel would you actually tempt with a book?

The obvious temptation was one that Crowley avoided thinking about as long as he could. But, finally, it had to be faced. There was something about sex that seemed to make Angel uncomfortable and, as a result, he didn't seem to set up sexual temptations. And those were the gold standard temptations. Gluttony and avarice did fairly well in the tempting line, but sex... When all else failed, there was always sex.

Not that Crowley, himself, had any interest in the subject. If he'd had to identify the temptations that hid deepest in his own psyche he'd have to say first, sloth. A laugh brought his head around. Little Crowley had head-butted Angel, who had butted the lamb back, landing both of them in the grass. Well, there was that, Crowley admitted to himself. If there was a temptation that could steal his soul, if he'd still had one, it was lying laughing in the grass with that damned little lamb.

Not sexual. Something burrowed deeper in his soul. A need that sometimes brought him awake at night wanting that other part of himself to desperately be there. To just talk to. Not even to touch. Well, maybe to touch. It would be extremely pleasant to stroke that white skin the way Angel was stroking the black curls of that bloody lamb. For a moment, Crowley's jaw dropped. Was it possible he was jealous of a sheep?

And then Angel looked at him. Smiled at him to share his pleasure in that fuzzy little creature. In Crowley! Whatever had made Angel name something that he obviously loved after Crowley? The answer glowed in the angel's eyes before he went back to playing. And Crowley just sat there in shock.

They loved each other.

He let the words repeat over and over in his head before he said them silently and solemnly again. They loved each other.

Who would have guessed?

***************************

The lamb was bedded down for the night in his straw manger and they were on the third bottle of wine that Crowley had unearthed from the Bishop's cellar. Not enough to leave them paralytic, but just enough to make some crazy ideas that were whirling around Crowley's head seem almost reasonable.

"What do you know about sex?"

The question came out of Crowley's mouth before he even knew it had been there.

Aziraphale stared for a minute, then drunkenly laughed. "As much as you do, I'd wager. Why?"

Carefully Crowley got to his feet and went to the table to open a fourth bottle. This was going to need the clarity that alcohol always seemed to bring while he was drinking. Before the hangover that it also brought. But this was clarity time.

"The reason that you can't tempt people effectively is because you don't understand sex. How intense the need is and how to maneuver people using that need."

"And you do?" Angel's laugh was a little loud and a lot annoying.

"Course I do. I watch. That's what it takes to tempt someone. Knowing what makes them do what they do. I understand sex."

"You don't. Never had it."

"Don't need to if you watch close enough."

"You're a voyeur!" A wild wave of Angel's glass sent the rich wine cascading toward his clothes, but the liquid disappeared before landing. A confused expression turned into a smile as the angel nodded his thanks to Crowley, who waved them away and continued to pour his drink.

"Sex embarrasses you. So you don't watch. And that means you don't understand how to use it to tempt somebody. Tell me I haven't hit it square on the head?"

"I'm not embarrassed. Sex is a natural expression of the feelings two people have for one another. How could it be embarrassing?"

Putting down his wine glass with exaggerated care, Crowley walked over to the angel's chair with unsteady gait and leaned on the arms. "You haven't ever had ' _la petite mort_ ,' have you?

"And I suppose you're going to tell me that you have." If there had been any room to pull back in his chair, Aziraphale would have.

"Well, no. But that doesn't matter because I understand sex. You don't." A wicked smile spread across Crowley's face. "So I'm going to show you."

By the time the tussle had ended, they were both on the floor and Crowley's hands were clutching Angel's goolies. "Not trying to get my end away. Just want to show you what you're missing. Now lie still and let me do this. Won't take long if you concentrate and you might learn something."

Not sure whether struggling more was going to separate him from a part of himself that he preferred keeping, Aziraphale stopped fighting. That gave Crowley the chance to straddle him in a more comfortable position. "You'll like it. Trust me."

Shaking his head in exasperation, Aziraphale threw up his hands. "Get on with it then, you drunken sod. But I feel ridiculous."

Observation is, indeed, a form of education and within five minutes Crowley had proved the acuity of this part of his learning. Angel was writhing on the floor making sounds that were causing problems in Crowley's lower regions while he tried to keep the long pumping motions steady, speeding them up when Angel got quieter, slowing them down when Angel thrashed around harder.

At some point, Angel grabbed Crowley's hand and set a rhythm for himself. With his free hand he pulled Crowley's head down and kissed him wet and hard. Once Angel was in charge, things didn't last too long. With a cry, he came, the wetness coating Crowley's hand, and then collapsed, panting.

Falling off Angel, Crowley settled down beside him, reluctant to stop the motions until Angel swatted his hand away. Turning onto his side so he could look at Angel's face, Crowley rested his cheek in his wet palm, grinning like a fiend.

"Better than you thought it would be, right?"

"Sod off!" Aziraphale panted, though he was laughing now, himself.

When he finally had his breath back, and the laughter had stopped, Aziraphale turned onto his side and looked seriously at Crowley. "Do you want to tell me just what you were proving with that?"

"Do you want to spend the rest of your existence without ever experiencing that again?" As Aziraphale's eyes opened wider in realization of what Crowley had just said, Crowley let his hand run over Angel's face. "This is what temptation is all about. The need for something you don't think you should have."

"So you want me running around getting humans off?"

"NO!" That brought Crowley into a cross legged position where he could look Angel in the face. "If you EVER dare touch a human that way..." At the look on Angel's face, Crowley lay back down. "Alright. You got me. But I'm serious, Angel. You can't tempt someone unless you understand what it's like to want something you shouldn't have and want it so badly that it hurts. Get that, and you'll be able to raise my scores and Hastur will slink back down to his hidey-hole and we can go on just the way we have."

"Just the way..." Aziraphale almost sputtered. "You got me off just so I could save your arse with Hastur?"

"Well, what did you think? That I wanted you to shag me?"

There was dead silence for almost a minute as they stared at one another.

"Yes," Aziraphale said finally, leaning forward to close up his clothing. "That's exactly what I think." He got to his feet and walked over to the table where, hands only moderately shaking, he refilled his glass and drank it down in one swallow. He turned back to Crowley, still lying on the floor. "Were you trying to tempt me, Crowley, or yourself? No, don't try to answer. It doesn't matter. I'm leaving tomorrow and we'll let this drop. Never happened. And I will make a greater effort when it's my turn to do the tempting so that you never get into trouble with Hastur again because of me. Now, goodnight."

And, with that, he turned and walked into the bedroom he was using, leaving Crowley open-mouthed on the floor.

***************************

Aziraphale's last words had been followed to the letter. The episode was never referred to between them. Which didn't mean that it wasn't present often enough in both of their minds.

Aziraphale was, indeed, discovering the power of temptation. Having relegated the experience to an activity he should never have participated in, the angel kept his hands strictly away from his naughty bits unless such touching was required for non-naughty reasons. But the more he tried not to remember what the feeling had been like, the more he found himself letting a hand drift downward until resolutely stopped.

And Crowley, he had to admit, had been right. Knowing how powerful the feeling was, and how hard it was to resist, made temptings very different. Easier, perhaps, but also more guilt producing. So Aziraphale had been forced to put more mental effort into finding ways to counter his own more successful efforts at tempting. For some reason, that seemed to be resulting in increased commendations for both of them, as Crowley's note had recently mentioned.

Righteous anger not being a sin, Aziraphale had taken quite a while to allow his to cool. Finding himself dreaming of the hand that had gripped him and the mouth he had kissed during that explosion of mind and body had just made him angrier. If he hadn't had the release of telling little Crowley every thought he had on the topic of the lamb's namesake, Aziraphale sometimes thought he might have exploded again, only nowhere near as wonderfully. And it had been absolutely incredible. Which is why, he explained to the lamb, dancing around his feet and trying to entice him into playing, that he really needed to keep more emotional and physical distance from that master tempter.

As for big Crowley, he'd cursed himself more times than he could count and had concluded that Angel was right, was wrong, as well as every other possible permutation of the two positions. But never could he quite bring himself to regret having done it to his angel.

His hand still held the tactile memory of that organ - hard as iron, soft as velvet. As contradictory as all of Crowley's emotions. He could have felt that same smoothness at any time by simply holding himself, but he never did. Only one other hand had the right to do that to him, and now it seemed that it never would.

It was months before Crowley's mental gears had clashed and clanked enough to have finally meshed back into anything like regular, normal thought. And what he had decided was that he'd been right all along. He and Angel loved one another, and it was up to Crowley to get them to admit it. What happened after that, he'd worry about then.

So how could he bring Angel back, not just to Crowley's presence, but to Crowley's bed?

***************************

Dear Angel,

Just to let you know that I'm no longer staying at the Bishop's palace or working as a chef. Learned all that you wanted me to learn from that experience, so moving on. Heard that you've settled in Paris. How I envy you the opportunities you must be having, and how much I wish that I could share so much that is French with you. We never got to get our mouths around anything with that Parisian flavor. Still hope someday we will. In the meantime, have included some of my more personal dishes that I still hope to make for you. Hoping that my namesake is enjoying his opportunity for travel.

Your,  
Crowley

******

The large envelope, as Aziraphale had opened it, had filled the room with the fragrances of dishes both familiar and exotic. Small pieces of paper seemed to be soaked in sauces that gave both color and odor but, when licked, no flavor. He'd never have imagined Crowley to be so interested in scholarship. In fact, books and philosophical meanderings were as far from his impression of what would interest his lamb's namesake as he could imagine. But perhaps he had done his friend a disservice and wondered if there was some simple tome being discussed in his classes at the Sorbonne that might interest Crowley when he got around to writing back.

It was a week before the angel learned from one of his fellow students exactly what Crowley was referring to about the French. Luckily, his bright red face was easily explained by the fast pace they were taking to make it to their next class on time. It took a bit of verbal skill to not insult the explainer, who offered to demonstrate the technique, assuming Aziraphale was willing to return the favor. Some awkward explanation of the current presence of unknown lesions on the appendage required for the activity had effectively ended the conversation. Though not Aziraphale's mental picture.

Every time he lay down, that mouth that he had tasted moved down to his groin in imagination. And try as he would, it wouldn't stop sucking until he, in total frustration, gave in to the temptation and brought himself off. After that, he took a few days off classes and conducted his own private seminars. Only when he was too sore to continue the lessons did he return to the ones at the Sorbonne. If Crowley was still trying to teach him something about temptation, that damned demon was doing a damned good job.

Aziraphale didn't answer the letter. But he did think that he needed to make a change in his life. Remembering a more innocent time, he suggested to Gabriel that he relocate to Rome, and Gabriel had agreed. The battles between Pope Boniface VIII and those who still objected to the previous pope, Celestine V, resigning, were going strong, and a force for good seemed a timely idea. Aziraphale received yet another commendation for volunteering.

***************************

Dear Angel,

You must be in seventh heaven to be surrounded by so many churches and cathedrals. Yes, I heard that you've moved to Rome, though only through roundabout hearsay. Might have thought you would have let me know yourself. But consider yourself forgiven.

Enclosing more dishes, this time Italian. Anytime you want to taste my wares, or anything else that interests you, the cook and the cookery are available to be sampled. Italian! The thought is heavenly. Or diabolical, depending on one's point of view. It takes careful preparation, and a heavy hand with the grease. Make sure that you stuff the opening as deep as possible, and pound it in so that there's no air to spoil the mix. I've heard tell that once tried, you'll come back to the dish again and again. I certainly hope so.

All my best to my namesake, who should be getting quite big by now. The trick will still work. You'll just need a larger purse to keep him in.

And keep your head down. The Italian papacy plays rough.

Your,  
Crowley

******

The small paper dish flavors were spectacular smelling. Most he now recognized, having been in Rome long enough to have sampled dishes from many of the well known inns. A _Bolognese torta_ started his salivary glands moistening and a quick glance at the sundial out the window told him that there was time to finish what he'd been doing and still get to the pub where he'd first had the dish. There was a flash of pain. It would have been far more fun to have gone with Crowley - the big Crowley - and joked about the spices and whether they were well balanced, or just covering up some too old beef mince.

Aziraphale had often been away from Crowley for far longer than this current separation but, for some reason, he was thinking of him more and wishing that there was some excuse he could find for having to be in his company again.

Italian? What was that about? It took a few minutes before the stuffing directions suddenly made sense and he sat rather hard on the appropriate anatomy he was sure was being suggested for said stuffing. Face red, eyes watering, the angel started laughing. And only stopped when he decided to skip the inn and spend the afternoon in his bedroom instead. It turned out to be a good decision, he later decided, lying knackered but happy among damp sheets that he reminded himself he'd need to later clean as he fell asleep, a very stupid grin spread across his lips.

***************************

Dear Angel,

Enough with this waiting for you to realize that we ought to be together. Consider this your advanced class in temptation. When your subject is seriously able to not give in to your most skilled seductions, the next stage is to give them an excuse to give in.

In one month, if you aren't in my bed, arse up and anticipating what comes next, I will be burning a first edition copy of _Chansonnier du Roi_. It's the version that Charles I of Anjou had made for his father, Louis IX. In perfect condition. If you ARE here, the book is yours. Your choice.

Good wishes to namesake, but saving the best for you.

Your,  
Crowley

******

 _Chansonnier du Roi_. A masterful choice on Crowley's part. Not only would that be a jewel in Aziraphale's collection, but it contained a musical piece that he hadn't heard performed, but only read about. And trust Crowley to know just how much Aziraphale would want that book. Burn it? Of course, he wouldn't burn it. Crowley might not enjoy books, but he never purposely committed sacrilege. And that's what destroying _Chansonnier du Roi_ would be.

Getting up from the desk where he'd been sitting, the angel went over to the door and looked out on the courtyard in which Crowley, not now so little, was contentedly grazing. This style of Italian palazzo was ideal for keeping a sheep in the city, if you didn't mind losing the center garden to a small pasture.

Opening the door, Aziraphale called, "Crowley. Come." Immediately, the black sheep trotted over and entered the room. Knowing what to expect, he walked over to the sofa and waited for Aziraphale to pick up the card and begin combing through his wool. The hand-shears on the table was used for occasional trimming, but Aziraphale did this frequently enough so that Crowley almost always looked his curly best.

When they finished, they played the headbutting game for a few minutes, then the sheep leaped up onto the sofa - a reason Aziraphale had chosen one with thick, strong legs - and curled up next to Aziraphale. This was the time both preferred. When they held conversations that were unintelligible to each other. But it also included treats that the two shared - apple slices, carrots, grapes.

To Crowley, it was simply the way the world was constructed. Life was a constant surprise. One day you might find yourself trotting along a road filled with new scenes and unusual greenery to nibble. Another day you were being rubbed, and petted and fed little delicacies while listening to a soothing voice crooning completely unintelligible sounds. All in all, life was good when you were a sheep. At least, when you were an angel's sheep.

As for Aziraphale, he finally had a companion. Someone who waited impatiently for him to come home and who baahh'd in happy excitement when he opened the door. And if, sometimes, he might have preferred a Crowley that would share a bottle of a good burgundy instead of one whose drink of choice was a cool dish of rain water, well, it was still good to be needed.

"We could go back to Britain, you know. It's not an impossibly long trip. You were born there. I'll bet you would still recognize the taste of the grass. Do you remember Crowley? Not you. The other Crowley. He's always asking after you. He'd be surprised to see how big you've gotten. You were just a little lamb when we were there. The cutest little black lamb in all of Britain." For the memory of that little baby that Aziraphale had carried so many miles, Crowley got the next three grapes while the angel took the last apple slice.

"He has a book that I'd love to have. Beautiful pictures. I'd show it to you but you'd have to promise not to eat it. He wants me to do something, though, that I really can't do. I'm an angel. He's a demon. Just the way things are. I'll tell you, but it's a secret between us. I'd like to do what he wants us to do. He's trying to tempt me because that's what demons do. But I won't give in, because angels don't. Isn't it a shame that angels don't?" Leaning over the dish on Aziraphale's lap, Crowley ate the rest of the grapes and got a hug for his mischief.

***************************

A month later, a very large package arrived at Aziraphale's door by messenger. From the shape, the angel knew exactly what it was. The book Crowley had threatened to burn. He'd known Crowley could never have done that. Not sure if the Crowley out cropping grass might take a liking to book pages, Aziraphale resisted the temptation to bring the sheep in to watch the unwrapping.

The cloth surrounding the book was too hard to tear, and it took a while to untie the knot on the ribbon holding the cloth closed. He could have miracled it in an instant but, somehow, that would have spoiled the excitement. At last the ribbon and cloth fell away and, for a moment, the title of the book could be seen in all its illustrated splendor. And then the whole book burst into flames and disappeared, leaving behind only a note.

It took a full minute before Aziraphale could bring himself to pick up the note.

******

Dear Angel,

Was very disappointed that you didn't come. In all ways. I really thought that this book would have brought you. But I've now taken up book collecting, so I have more. This month's selection is the Northumberland Bestiary. I'm actually rather fond of it. A number of the illustrations show events that we were both participants in. I really hope that you decide that I've tempted you enough and that you'll join me in my new, large and soft bed. Each night as I fall asleep, I imagine you beside me. If you come within the next month, the book is yours. Otherwise... And I'll really regret burning this one.

Bring along Crowley. Would like to see how he's grown.

Your,  
Crowley

******

Although the room had returned to its normal brightness, the flare of the burning book had lit a hellish fire in Aziraphale that still blinded him with fury. If the wooly Crowley had been there, the angel would have had to cover the sheep's ears to prevent him hearing words that Aziraphale didn't even know he'd learned as he'd wandered among humans. "Damned bloody bleeder" started the list and he wasn't going to run out of names for that demon of hell for quite a while.

Afraid that he might start breaking cherished souvenirs in his anger, the angel concentrated on tearing the note into pieces so small that even letters were difficult to interpret by the time he was done. Then he blasted the pieces into a very satisfying display of flaming sparks.

Did that - the list of names for that demon from hell began repeating in his mind - really think that committing a bibliophile's sacrilege was going to get him up Aziraphale's arse? Really? An Etruscan vase hit the wall and smashed into more pieces than the note had become. For the next five minutes, Aziraphale uncluttered the room until he realized that his arm was back and his hand holding a goblet that had once passed back and forth between himself and Julius Caesar. His arm shook slightly as he lowered it and carefully put the goblet back on a shelf.

Horrified at the anger he'd felt, and still felt, Aziraphale looked for the calm in his soul. After six or seven deep breaths, he looked again. Deep in the depths he finally found it and focused on that tiny light until a hard-fought-for peace reached his mind, if not his heart. It trembled for a moment as he opened his eyes and saw the destruction that he, himself, had wrought, but then he carefully miracled each and every object back into place. Only when the last vase was mended did he go to a cabinet, take out an antique vintage he'd been saving for a special occasion, and get himself completely and totally blotto.

***************************

Morning tiptoed across Aziraphale's skull with armor-shod shoes. For a few moments, he jumped between a dream in which he was shagging a screaming Crowley demon into a thick Berber carpet and a reality in which lightning and thunder fought for dominance in a head too small for the battle. An early drop of wetness on his nose gave him warning to open one eye, only to discover himself lying out in the pasture, arms around a sleeping sheep, while above him the heavens opened and a deluge turned the grass into mud. That's all it needed.

Within the house, a bottle gradually refilled with a fine old vintage and Aziraphale dragged himself to his feet by hanging onto black, wet wool. As one, the two dashed for the open doorway and collapsed onto the floor as heaven and hell fought it out in the sky overhead and Aziraphale promised himself, once again, that he was, as of that moment, a dedicated abstainer.

Burying his face in the wool of a wet and smelly sheep, Aziraphale gave it one last hug and pulled himself to his feet. "Up with you, you lazy cow! We have packing to do and preparations to make if we're going to leave for Britain today." Crowley's only response was a plaintive "Baahhh!"

***************************

When Aziraphale's reply had come, it had, to Crowley's relief, included an Arrive By date. Three days before that he'd practically moved to the local cathedral roof. This visit, he was determined, was going to be memorial. Practically, nothing. Crowley HAD moved there. He'd actually built a small flat on the roof. Though it blended in in material and color, that was only to satisfy Crowley's aesthetics. He'd been experimenting with a technique that essentially reflected back the surroundings, rendering objects almost invisible. From the ground, his newly built flat WAS invisible. And, since the door to the roof had become mysteriously jammed, it would be a while before anyone discovered they had a new freeloading tenant.

The only problem had been finding a place to build it that didn't have a view blocked by one of those annoying gargoyles that kept appearing on the roofs of the cathedrals in the towns in which he'd lived for any length of time. Sometimes it felt as if he'd been chased through England by the things - from Gloucestershire to Cambridgeshire; from Oxfordshire to here. And now it looked like he was going to have to find another town. This rooftop was becoming infested. But that was for after. For now, this would do very well.

This was the date mentioned in Angel's note and Crowley felt as if the heart in his chest was going to beat right out of it. Strange how the anticipation could stay at such levels for so long. It seemed an eternity but, finally, by straining his eyes, Crowley could identify two figures in the distance - one a vision in white cloth molded to its body and draped with a matching half cape; the other squat and black and obviously his namesake. A laugh of pure joy escaped this Crowley. His angel was back.

There was no question of flying in the full light of afternoon, so Crowley just miracled himself down to appear directly in Angel's path.

"You're here." The satisfaction in the voice and the grin on Crowley's face wasn't echoed on his friend's.

"You said come, so I came."

"Crowley looks well."

Without thought, Aziraphale's hand moved to the head that was bumping his thigh. "A bit too fond of sweet fruits, but I'm keeping his diet under control." A low bleat suggested that "fruits" was a known and favorite word to the sheep. But the plea only resulted in another head pat.

"And you?" Crowley asked, unable to take his eyes off his friend.

"The usual." They turned and strolled toward the town, its spires and chimneys clearly visible as the crowds on the road increased. "Settled here for a while?" Politeness seemed to require conversation.

"For a while. I've been thinking of moving on. Too many people. Thought about going south. Warmer weather."

"Would think you'd find more opportunities in crowds. For tempting." As the word came out of Aziraphale's mouth, he clamped it shut as though trying to keep something in that had unwittingly escaped.

Recognizing the potential for an argument, Crowley just nodded and smiled and wondered how they were ever going to move from this cool interaction to his very warm bed. But they were. On that he was fully determined.

"See much of your sort? Heard you got another commendation."

"Not much. The reports going up have been so good, they haven't bothered showing very often these days. By the way, thanks for that."

"No problem. Thanks, too. You did a great job down in Scotland. Really glad I didn't have to do that one. Chilly." Crowley shivered dramatically.

The rest of the walk was conducted with the same impersonal level of discourse and Crowley would have been grateful for a fight to clear the air by the time he stopped by the cathedral gardens. Aziraphale looked around with some surprise. "Don't tell me you're living here."

"Actually, I am. No, I'm not coming over to your side. Boring sods. But come over here and I'll show you my digs." They walked around a large statue and Crowley stopped and indicated the sheep. Nodding, Aziraphale did the trick and put the not that small black toy into a much larger purse that still hung from his belt. That done, he looked at Crowley and, the next instant, they were on the front porch of Crowley's home on the cathedral roof.

The look on Aziraphale's face was worth it all, Crowley thought, as he watched the angel realize where they were, what the building was, and began to laugh the first real laugh since they'd met. "It was the view I took it for, of course. Best in town. Here, take that off and I'll get you a drink."

Shaking his head, Aziraphale did remove his cloak and carefully placed the toy Crowley on a table in a corner. "For now, I'm teetotal."

"Sorry to hear that." The words were sincere. Crowley had depended on an alcoholic path into the angel's pants.

"So. I'm here. May I have the book?"

"Of course. It's right here." As Crowley watched, Aziraphale flipped quickly through the pages then glanced around for a chair, which immediately appeared beneath him. Nothing was said for the next fifteen minutes as the angel reverently turned the pages. Unable to resist, Crowley moved behind him and, over Aziraphale's shoulder, examined the images that by now he knew well. "Doesn't much look like them, does it?"

Turning back to the previous page, Aziraphale again studied the wash of Adam and Eve. "Poetic license." Turning to a centaur holding a snake, Angel's laugh was almost as light as Crowley remembered. "You must have held him up. Never saw him get on the Ark."

"Or the unicorn," reminded Crowley.

But the angel had seen enough. Closing the book, he stood up and faced Crowley. "Are you really going to blackmail me into having sex with you? You couldn't really destroy this, could you?"

"Not blackmail. That would mean I forced you to do something you didn't want to do. This is Advanced Temptation. You want to. You just need an excuse."

Turning away, Aziraphale crossed the room and stood at a window looking out over the town. Crowley moved behind him and placed his hands on Angel's shoulders. They twitched, then relaxed. "And why would I want to do that?" Aziraphale asked the reflection in the window.

"Because you love me. And you know I love you. And because old Socrates was right. It's the way that two halves of one being become one again." The words were very quiet, but echoed in the silent room.

"If I do it, there's going to be a price for you."

"There always would be."

Angel turned from the window and met Crowley's eyes. "I'll take the book. I'll share your bed for three days. And, when I leave, we don't meet again for a full century. Is that worth it to you?"

The pause seemed to last forever with two heartbeats paused. Then Crowley simply said, "Yes," the word firm, with no underlying guilt or contrition.

Breathing again, Angel nodded and walked into Crowley's arms.

***************************

It was almost midnight of their last night together, and Angel slept peacefully in Crowley's arms. Much as Crowley hated any time spent unconscious, he accepted that he'd had more time with this love of his than he'd ever expected. Three days! He'd thought their time might have been counted in hours, and had hoped for a day. Three days was their own version of eternity.

For two novices at the art of love, he thought they'd done rather well for themselves. The mechanics were obvious; the initial embarrassment inevitable. But the results... They were magnificent when paired. Like every sunrise and sunset rolled into one flaming fire that had no part of its creation in hell.

Socrates had, indeed, been right. They had been one. And they were again. All of music and art and joy culminated in those moments when they died together. Who could ever call this wrong? How could Angel ever lie in Crowley's arms and then bring himself to leave them? Crowley was determined to find a way to keep them together.

But time had been passing while he had held the moment and all around them began a sound that deafened the very sky. As Angel sat up in shock, Crowley miracled their refuge into silence so that all that remained was a vibration that tingled from hair to toe-tips.

"It's the start of the new century. The cathedral and church bells all over the country are all ringing now. Out with the Thirteenth. In with the Fourteenth! Happy New Century, Angel!"

Even their lips vibrated to the deep pealing of the largest bells as they kissed and laughed and kissed again. Angel pulled back enough to complain, "This is only 1300, Crowley. The century doesn't start until 1301."

"Belt up, Angel. Or, better yet, put a sock in it. Or we'll find something even better to put in your mouth. We're going to celebrate whatever year this is! And I, for one, intend to see this year out in style."

As long as the style was _au naturale_ , they did.

***************************

Against all Crowley's hopes and plans, Angel was adamant. They'd made a deal and he was holding Crowley to it. For three days they'd hardly left Crowley's bed and Angel was sore in places he hadn't known were part of his anatomy. But go he would. And after these three days, the next century was going to be as long for him as it would be for Crowley. Crowley had been quite right. He loved that damned demon with everything that made the angel who he was. But he hadn't told Crowley, and he wasn't going to. Let Crowley guess. He deserved that much. But there was still a germ of anger locked deep into Aziraphale's heart that might take the whole next century to pull out and let go. So he was leaving.

The same trick that had worked on the sheep worked on the book which now resided safely in his belt purse. Tempted though he was - that damned word again - Aziraphale had not taken the rest of the library Crowley had offered. The deal was one book. One incredible book that he could never have imagined owning. And one book it would be. Though he had let himself page through the others, he had firmly closed the covers and turned away.

And now they were walking together those last miles before Crowley would turn back, and he and his Crowley would return to a palazzo that would seem unimaginably quiet and empty.

"Angel..."

The pleading tone left no doubt as to what Crowley was going to say. Again. So Angel shook his head and Crowley closed his mouth. Again. From town, Angel could see a small cart filled with hay coming toward them. Deciding suddenly, he held up a hand and before Crowley could stop him, asked for a lift for himself and his sheep. The driver waved him to the rear and Angel struggled with the not so small sheep and got him settled in the back, while trying to ignore the panicked look on Crowley's face. He was about to jump on, himself, to avoid a long goodbye, when the world suddenly froze.

"Don't do this, Angel. We can work something out if you'll just give me time. I didn't mean to upset you. Bollixed everything up. But I can fix it. Just give me a chance."

"You made a deal, Crowley, and I agreed to it. You had every chance in the world to not make that deal. You wanted to teach me something. I think you've got something to learn yourself."

Moving into Crowley's arms, Angel kissed him long and tenderly and if he didn't say anything about love, his feelings couldn't have been missed by either of them. With a last quick kiss, Angel snapped his fingers and the world restarted. Jumping aboard the already moving cart, Angel steadied himself on the only Crowley he had left and waved. "I'll see you in a hundred years!"

"That's a promise," Crowley called back, waiting until the cart had disappeared around the corner before slowly turning back to the road that would take him to the start of what would probably be the worst century in his very long life.

***************************

There was a bustle in the air as students in flowing gowns ran along paths created through the middle of grassy areas, and the shouts of people wishing each other a Happy New Year could be heard wherever you went. New Year's at Oxford, the second oldest University in the world. Merton College had an orderly look to the buildings, as an elderly caretaker called out admonitions to the students running across his just washed stoop.

"Aziraphale," Crowley asked the man, leaning on his mop. "Could you point out the entrance where he lives?"

Any question the man might have felt he was allowed to ask of strangers died as he looked into Crowley's smiling face. Crowley was often found to have that effect on people. Pointing, the man returned to his work and Crowley waved the carters over to that door. Between them, they carried a large crate that they deposited just inside the door, accepted coins with a tug at their hair, and headed out to find the nearest pub.

There was a smell to student dorms that wasn't unpleasant. Just unique. A blend of drinks brewed surreptitiously in rooms, long unwashed clothes, and smoke from the ever-present pipes. Angel's door was obvious. It opened as Crowley approached. Since the hall was open, the simple way to handle the crate was to miracle it inside, so he did that. At the sound of it clattering on the stone floor, there were sounds from another room. In another minute, Angel had burst through the doorway and stopped, staring equally between Crowley and the wooden box.

"Planning on moving in, are you?"

"Didn't expect an invitation, but wouldn't mind." Indicating the box with a tilt of his head. "Some things I've been collecting for you since we last were together."

"It's good to see you." The awkwardness was suddenly between them as the door closed them in together. "So, what's all this?"

The false hardiness grated a bit on Crowley but he put it down to their long separation. "Open it and find out."

With a remembered grin, Angel flicked his wrist and the box disappeared, leaving behind piles of books that began to slowly collapse with their support gone. Running to save the piles, Angel grabbed first one book and then another, stacking them onto chairs and tables and the floor until they were all rather haphazardly organized. He turned around, surveying the mass of them and shaking his head. "There's enough here to start a bookshop."

"Up to you. They're all yours. Been rather interesting, collecting them. Some are really boring, but never really know what will appeal to you, so I just brought them all."

"And these?" Angel leaned down and picked up a topless box that was filled to the brim with pages.

Embarrassed, Crowley admitted, "Letters. You didn't want to see me, so I wrote. Don't have to read them but, since they were yours, didn't think I should throw them out."

Nodding, and embarrassed himself, Angel took the box and put it into the room from which he'd come, then returned.

Crowley was examining a toy black sheep and looked a question at Angel, who nodded. "Thought it might be his last night on earth and decided that I'd rather keep him like this. He was a good sheep."

"You're here," Angel said at last, announcing the obvious as Crowley turned to face him.

"I'm here."

"How long can you stay?"

"How long will you let me?"

"Are you expecting to share my bed?"

"Hoping."

They stared at one another for a long time. Then, with a deep breath, Angel nodded. "Okay, guess you're staying." As Crowley moved toward him, Angel held up a hand. "Bed later. Help me straighten out these books first."

But Crowley just ignored him and grabbed him up in a bear hug, twirling him around and kissing him as if to make up for every kiss they'd missed for a hundred years. When Angel finally pulled back in order to breathe, there was joy on both faces. "Alright. Bed now. Books later," he agreed in fake crotchetiness, and pulled Crowley into the other room.

The books remained on the chairs and tables for the next week, and Angel never even noticed.

***************************

**Author's Note:**

> In Vino Veritas. Or Not.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/22233535
> 
> Pillow Talk  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/21828172


End file.
